


The Doctor's Darkest Hour

by whovianmuse



Category: Doctor Who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whovianmuse/pseuds/whovianmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor accidentally becomes the new Sex Education professor at a local high school. As if that isn't already horribly embarrassing enough, he discovers that Amelia Pond and Rory Williams are two of his students.</p><p>Written for a prompt on Eleventy_Kink (LiveJournal)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor's Darkest Hour

            The Doctor paces outside of the door, wringing his hands and sighing desperately to himself. He glances at the paper sign taped to the splintered wood and rolls his eyes. He does this for several minutes, frightening the other professors that roam the hallway, mentally and physically slapping himself into a relative state of confidence, before turning the handle and stumbling inside. The classroom isn’t very large, and the Doctor can’t decide if that makes this any easier.

            He scans the students, scrutinizes them. It’s mainly comprised of girls. Big, scary, senior girls in high school that pop their peppermint gum in a series of small gunshots and scrape their boots on the back of the chairs in front of them. Girls with super-fast manicured fingernails clicking away on cell phone keyboards. Girls who smell like cigarettes and cheap perfume, covering up the scent of a shag in the parking lot. Girls with obvious falsies in the breast department, and short skirts and raging hormones and… _periods_. The Doctor shudders.

            None of them have even bothered to notice him, and he’s been standing at the front of the room, pacing in front of a large whiteboard, for the past ten minutes. The moment he discovers the large cardboard box with its terrifying silicone contents, sitting innocently on his desk, he realizes that he can’t possibly make it through this alive. He silently curses administration, but it’s his own fault, really. Shouldn’t have said ‘Doctor.’ Should’ve stuck with ‘Professor.’ At least then he could’ve gotten assigned something easy like maths or physics. Health and Wellness isn’t important. If they don’t understand proper hygiene at this age, then clearly, there’s no hope for the future. Besides which, the Doctor is here strictly on the grounds of wibbly activity, and he can accomplish his detective work just as effectively if he becomes a school janitor. He decides to make a run for it. None of them will notice.

            His fingers reach the tip of the brass handle, when the door crashes open and he’s smacked full in the face as two teenagers rush through, and it’s the cricket bat all over again as he struggles to regain focus. A ridiculous smile crosses his dumbfounded face as he takes in the sight of a buoyant, uniform-clad ginger dragging a sheepish, pointy-nosed boy by the hand and popping down into a seat directly at the front of the classroom.

            The young girl’s long, scarlet-painted fingernails reach into the depths of her purse to pull out a notebook and a pen, while the boy opens his rucksack the opposite side up and spills the contents onto the floor. The girl rolls her eyes, and leans over to help him pick up his pencils, giving the Doctor a full shot of hear breasts. Her skin is pale and adorably freckled, her little pink lips pursed for a playful jab.

            The boy looks at her like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life, and secretly, the Doctor knows that he never will. He clears his throat, shaking tempestuous thoughts from his mind and attempts to gain the class’s attention. Adolescent Amy looks up from her notebook, its pages lined with sketches of retro police boxes with flashing lights, fish fingers dipped in bowls of custard, and a man with a ragged shirt and tie. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the sight of her substitute health professor. Amy’s lips pull into a pout, her eyes widen in astonishment, and for a moment, the Doctor realizes that he could, potentially, rewrite their entire history if he even speaks a word to her, and so with much difficulty, he simply ignores her, and addresses the class instead.

            “So, you lot. Look at you. You’re all bright-eyed and shiny-faced and brimming with teenage life. Well, good for you,” he says, smiling cheerfully, avoiding Amy’s gaze and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Rory seems unaffected, because technically, Rory hasn’t met the Doctor yet, but Amy’s nonplussed, penetrating the Doctor with her cat-like olive green eyes, trying to figure him out, and most likely wondering if she’s dreaming.

            “So, this is the health and wellness unit, I take it?” he asks. The class stares back at him blankly. A hand rockets into the air, and a rather bland young girl asks, “What happened to Miss Greene?” The Doctor raises his eyebrows and smiles.

            “She’s on holiday. Won a week’s paid vacation to Mallorca in a random draw. I’m her substitute. You can call me Professor Smith,” the Doctor says, smirking and writing his name in large, blue lettering on the whiteboard. It was entirely too easy to trick humans these days: Sonic an ATM. Purchase plane tickets. Book a hotel room. Create a fake lottery for the professors of the high school. End result: Immediate temporary vacancy.

            “So, erm…you’re all studying proper hygiene and drug addiction, right?” he asks, rubbing his hands together and glancing furtively at the scary, cardboard box and the oversized textbook on the desk. He decides he’s not touching them, because truthfully, he doesn’t even know what half of the items in the box might do.

            “No,” the bland girl corrects him, “actually, we’ve just covered drugs and alcohol. This month’s topic is sex education.”

            The Doctor cringes and the rest of the class giggles at the mere mention as furtive glances are shared across the room. Amy looks perfectly unbothered, but Rory’s flushed down to his neck as he glances over at his girlfriend. Clearly, they haven’t reached that point in their relationship yet, but the Doctor doesn’t even want to think about it.

            “Oh,” he says, blushing furiously and backing slowly from the room in another attempt to make a run for it, but the curiosity of meeting adolescent Amy and Rory, of hanging about with his two best friends, is what keeps him there. He sighs, shakes his head, and makes up his mind: he’s staying. He can do this. He’s lived for nine hundred and eight years, fought back Daleks and Cybermen and Slitheen, and saved countless planets and species from destruction and war. He can handle a simple sex education class.

            The Doctor swallows nervously, picks up the heavy textbook from the desk, and instructs the class to turn to a random page, hoping for the best. Unfortunately, he opens to a spread of a large penis, all floppy and hairy and staring him boldly in the face.

            “Erm,” he begins, scrunching up his eyes to read the tiny text on the page.

            “So…as the book clearly states, there are several euphemisms for the male body part, some of which include ‘the hickory-smoked sausage,’ ‘the steeple,’ ‘the lap-rocket,’ and ‘his majesty in purple cap,’ however, we must learn to call it by its proper name, which is, of course, the penis.”

            The Doctor can feel the blush creeping into his cheeks, threatening to melt the skin clean off of his face, when Amy raises her hand.

            “Yes, Pond?” he says, regretting it immediately when she asks, “But why is it his majesty in _purple_ cap? I thought they were a bit more, you know, pinkish.”

            The Doctor swallows nervously and says, “Yes, well, they are when they’re dangly and when they’re firm, they can get a bit purple, I suppose.”

            “Do you know this from experience?”

            A short, spotty brunette from the back stares at him, waiting for an answer.

            “Erm…well, I mean, I do have one, yes.”

            “But why do they get all firm, then? What has to happen to make them _firm_?”

            She pronounces each word with irritating punctuation, and her friends giggle madly.

            “Well, when a man gets excited, all of the blood rushes there and then it sort of…pops up,” he says, struggling to keep composure, and practically glowing red when Amy runs her hands along Rory’s thigh.

            “For example!” he shouts before he can stop himself, pointing to Rory’s trousers. Amy immediately takes away her hands and smiles sheepishly. Rory’s eyebrows have disappeared behind his fringe, his cheeks about as red as the Doctor’s.

            “Erm, right then, let’s move on…turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four and you’ll find…oh dear Lord,” he groans.

            The Doctor nearly passes out as he stares at the contents of the new page: little cartoon images of women brandishing whips at bound and gagged men, tying them up to bedposts with handcuffs and restraints, whipped cream and strawberries and feathers barely concealing breasts and navels, and all manner of frightening things displayed under the giant header: KINKS. The little cartoon women all share a striking resemblance to River. The Doctor blinks several times and looks up at the class, all of whom are dead quiet, their shoulders shaking like they’re drilling the road, trying to contain their laughter.

            “So, right then, kinks are like fetishes…which are things…that people like to do with other people that involve strange…erm, practices,” he says, closing the book and trying not to think about the time that River had made him wear stilettos.

            “Do you have any kinks then, professor?” the girl chimes in again.

            “I think that’s rather inappropriate… no, I don’t.”

            “Bollocks,” she whispers, “he’s obviously got a thing for bowties.”

            The Doctor adjusts the little red bundle of fabric at the base of his throat, which presses uncomfortably against his Adam’s apple. He hastily turns the page one last time, hoping for something relatively innocent. He quickly flips past the section about STI’s and moves shockingly fast through pregnancy and childbirth. Finally, he turns to a page where a curious-looking object with lots of narrow tubes and circles stares back at him, and he can’t, for the life of him, figure out what it is. In a moment of sheer desperation, he turns the book toward the class and asks, “What is this, exactly?”

            The room explodes with laughter. The boys shake their heads, clutching their sides, and the girls whip out their phones to get a good shot of their dumbfounded professor. The Doctor turns toward Rory, trusting him for a proper answer that won’t make him look like a complete fool. Rory blushes furiously and shakes his head, cursing himself for his terrible luck, and murmurs, “Erm, professor, that would be a vagina.”

            The Doctor’s eyes widen in shock as he stares from Rory’s face back to the textbook. With one last embarrassed glance toward Amy and Rory, the Doctor mumbles something about needing a loo break and bolts for the door, slamming it swiftly behind him and leaning up against the glass, panting and shaking his head vehemently. He reaches into his back pocket for his curvy, false mustache, places it under his nose and walks off into the janitor’s closet to hide with the friendly-looking mops and brooms for the remainder of the day. 


End file.
